No Christian imbibed
the Muslim’s drink until Pope Clement sanctioned it. What’s wrong with that? He
only was one of the most evil popes in history. Coffee is not my cup of tea. It
has terrible effects upon me. Drinking coffee is like giving your brain a
laxative. I can prove this by reading to you my notes from that fateful day
when I drank a quad-shot sixteen-ounce Americano to get my highest grade in a
Latin quiz: “My heart is palpitating like a cackle of hyperactive hyenas in a
washing machine on the spin cycle.” “I could swear I can see how fast Pastor
Wilson’s beard is growing!” “My leg has decided to rebel, I bet it will soon
pop off and join a hippie community.” Most of you are slaves to this dark and
formless master. You have been victims of its evil clutches. It has tainted you
with its elusive promises of excessive energy and eccentric thought activity.
Even if this promise is fulfilled and you do feel high like a fly in the sky
eating the apple of my pie, the effects will wear off, and you will find
yourself feeling abandoned like a burnt piece of bacon swimming in the white
grease of disappointment.
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